


The Palace Submerged

by gabrielandworms



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Mind Palace, Writing Exercise, cosmic horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:08:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27207145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielandworms/pseuds/gabrielandworms
Summary: I breathe in. I breathe out. And then, sometimes, I see the Palace.
Kudos: 1





	The Palace Submerged

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really a story in the proper sense. There's no plot, just a setting. It's actually what I visualize when I meditate. Is that concerning?
> 
> Maybe.

I close my eyes, and I see the Palace. I open my eyes, and those desolate ruins remain before me, as though they had always been there. This abandoned kingdom used to manifest only at the most desperate of times, when my heart strained for escape—for any escape. I would feel the frigid needles of panic along my hands and face… and then suddenly I would be elsewhere. I would be lost amongst the unfamiliar wreckage of the Palace.

Back then, the Palace had been a bizarre, foreign thing. Admittedly, I still find it strange, but back then I was distressed by my inability make sense of the endless storms that plagued the landscape, just as I was bewildered by the bone-white towers that emerged from the lake—so much like the skeletal fingers of a drowning soul grasping for purchase. Not even the familiar sensation of wet grass beneath my feet could keep me grounded and reassured. The place was an unnatural sight, and my frail mental state couldn’t make sense of how the mere act of closing my eyes was dragging me from the everyday machinations of my life to this eerie land.

With time, just as with everything else, I adjusted to my repeated visits to this Palace. The fear that so often thrummed within my chest eventually gave way to calm. That every detail remained constant and unchanging admittedly helped with this transition.

But perhaps I should speak to exactly what I was being pulled to so frequently, as referring to this ethereal landscape as a Palace is perhaps too vague. Let me start from the beginning. Every time I came to these ruins, I would be greeted by a heavy rain. As always, I would look up, and I would witness these storm clouds, thick and dark with the occasional white-hot streaks of lightning escaping bleak gray whorls. And oh, how the thunder rumbled.

Whenever the Palace summoned me, it deposited me right outside its flooded ruins. My bare feet—for no matter what I was wearing, my feet would suddenly be bare—would suddenly be cushioned by wet grass. I would have these towering pine trees around me, their needles the color of black velvet. I would be completely enshrouded by the wilderness.

One step forward, however, and I would leave the security of that forest for the lake that had consumed the Palace. Even though the storm clouds choked out even the faintest trace of sunlight, the ruins were a bright white. The stone walls were as pale and glowing as the moon’s stark face. They shimmered as they rose from those dark waters. Despite the decay, they truly contained a vibrancy beyond my comprehension.

The Palace was enchanting. So enchanting, in fact, that I eventually began to hear a voice echo from that haunting majesty.

_Come into the water. Join me at the bottom. I’m waiting for you down here._

Time and time again, that voice would wind around me, like a languid serpent. The sultry serenade would slip into my ears. That tantalizing tone would fill my mind with the oddest compulsion.

At the behest of that voice, I would then step into the lake. And the water was always cold. I would always have to bite back the chattering of my teeth as I waded out into that foreboding water. The chill would make quick work of whatever clothes I wore, and it would sink through my flesh and into the marrow of my bones.

Every time I ventured into the lake, I made my way towards one specific location. In the midst of that water was a small island. Or rather, what was currently an island. I am certain that, before the Palace had flooded, it had been a proper hill.

Even though its days as a hill were a distant memory, a statue still remained at its pinnacle. Just as the decaying towers were unusual, so too was this statue. It appeared to be carved from the same stone as the ruins, for it glimmered like moonlight even in the midst of the thunderstorm. Unlike the towers, however, this statue had been carved into something vaguely human.

I had once deduced the statue was of a mere man, but the more I gazed upon the relic, the less certain I became of that assumption. The limbs were too long and spindly, the fingers too clawed. The head rested on a swan-like neck, and though the razor-sharp cheekbones passed as human enough, the eyes did not. They were unnaturally large, and they resembled the compound eyes of a housefly far more than they did the sclerae and irises of human eyes.

That didn’t even address the massive wings that sprouted from the statue’s back. At first, I had figured that the wings were simply an embellishment of sorts, a baroque frame for this inhuman individual. Only after gazing upon the statue a few times did I truly understand what I was seeing.

If I had to describe the wings, they resembled that of a seraphim’s. Six large wings grew from this man’s back, but the feathers appeared to be nothing of the sort. Instead of bird feathers, the artist had carved thousands upon thousands of housefly wings. And even as stone, each individual wing almost seemed translucent and fragile.

Upon this revelation, I realized this statue was of Beelzebub, the lord of the flies himself. Or alternatively, Beelzebul, the lord of the heavens.

I would still approach the statue, even with this knowledge. I would feel those stone eyes upon me as I waded too deep into the water and—inevitably—would be overtaken by the dark depths of the lake.

_I breathe in._

_I breathe out._

Even sinking to the depths of that lake, I would still be able to breathe. Even as the cold water filled my lungs, I would still be able to breathe. And just as I did every time the Palace lured me into the lake, I looked down to the depths below me. Instead of a dank abyss, the water glowed like moonlight.

The glow always hurt to look at. While I found the fluorescent lights in the waking world to be uncomfortable to look at, that discomfort paled in comparison to what this light was capable of bringing upon me. The pain was akin to fire, to the heat of the lightning in the sky above me. I would feel my eyes burn with an agony beyond anything I felt in the waking world, even during the worst of times. The pain that the light wrought upon me would make me jerk, desperate to look away. And yet, I would always find myself unable to pull my gaze from that brilliant, blinding light.

The horrific pain would always be enough to overwhelm me and banish me from the Palace. To send me back to the reality that I hailed from. Sometimes though, just before I faded from those cold waters, I would see long-fingered hands emerge from that light and lunge for me.

They never caught me.


End file.
